Lessons
by lillialyce
Summary: Oneshot. Boss!Spain and Chibi!Romano. Spain resumes teaching Spanish to Romano, with unexpected results.


**Warning for a shota-ish scene at the very end.**

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><p>It had come to Spain's attention that, after years of living together with his little henchman, Romano refused to speak and probably still couldn't understand Spanish. After his sporadic trips to the Americas and the occasional (frequent) war, Spain had only seen Romano enough times to get an idea of Romano's spoiled, lazy attitude and Romano's rather obvious dislike for him.<p>

Spain had already abandoned all hope of having the boy clean the house or do his chores, but he refused to let go of this. It was such a simple task, really, for Romano to speak in the language of his Boss. The boy was a part of the Spanish Empire; it only made sense to speak the language, which wasn't even that different from Romano's own. Both languages were derived from Latin; it was in Romano's blood to know Spanish. It had to be.

Because he was unsure of how long he would be staying in the house this time, Spain was going to take it upon himself to—properly, without any interruptions from his boss or Belgium (though Romano had the tendency to actually _learn_ when she was involved, the brat)—teach Romano the beautiful language that was Spanish.

His plan to converse in his language by the end of the day could only succeed, though, if the boy in question would stop trying to sleep. . .

"Romano!" Spain exclaimed, repeatedly clapping his hands in front of his henchman's face. "¡_Escúchame_!"

Scowling, Romano stuck out his tongue. "I don't speak idiot," he said in his flawless Italian. (_Non parlo idiota_.) The words flowed from his lips naturally, beautifully, for such a young boy. Spain wondered how Romano's Spanish would sound with that Italian accent. "Dumbass." (That part wasn't in Italian.)

His mind started to wander with visions where he and Romano held long Spanish conversations, and Romano's voice was almost singing, simply because of his accent. If he sounded like he was singing, maybe, maybe they could actually sing songs together, and dance, and play instruments. Romano could love him and actually treat him like a Boss, and maybe Chibitalia could come and, oh, it would be so cute. . .

"Come on, Romano." He forced himself away from his daydreaming. "Why won't you pay attention to me?"

"It's boring, dammit!" Romano swung his legs—they didn't even reach the ground, he was sitting on such a high chair—and puffed his cheeks. "Maybe if you were _interesting_, I'd learn something."

Spain thought about it. The language of _español_ was already interesting; it was beautiful and exotic and delicious on the tongue. Romano just didn't understand.

"What if I showed you what I'm teaching?" It didn't seem like the best idea, simply because he was sure Romano would ask to be taught 'sleeping' and 'eating' first—and, of course, the expletives Romano was so fond of using, but Spain wasn't ready to delve into them yet—but he couldn't think of another teaching method.

Romano was a child. Didn't all children like to be active when they learned? It had been such a long time since Spain himself was that young. He was sure he hadn't been as spoiled as Romano was currently.

"Whatever." He lay back in his seat, not even bothering to stifle his yawn. Spain scowled. "Teach away."

"'To listen,'" Spain started pointedly, focusing his gaze on the Italian, "is _escuchar_."

Romano stayed silent but rolled his eyes.

"'To understand' is _comprender_." Spain looked at him in anticipation, slowing his speech so it was comprehensible for Romano's basic (mediocre) skills, "_Si_ _estás escuchando y comprendiendo mis palabras, respóndeme con una sonrisa_."

He wasn't sure if he was disappointed or simply expecting it when Romano didn't so much as move. Maybe it was because Romano couldn't interpret the end of his sentence. "A _sonrisa_ is a smile," he prodded, smiling hopefully as an example. The rest of his sentence had been full of cognates, so Romano should have understood.

Spain and Romano stared at each other; Spain trying to see Romano's reaction, Romano probably thinking of a way to leave.

"That's not showing me anything," Romano finally grumbled, pouting and looking downward. On anyone else, the action could have been cute. But because Spain knew Romano. . . decently. . . enough (truthfully, he didn't understand his henchman at all), he saw the actions as, well, somewhat irritating. "Why don't you teach the Spanish for 'to eat?'"

"_Comer_," he replied flatly, trying to keep his annoyance from getting the best of him. He might have spoiled Romano and let him do as he felt, but this really was too much. Romano may have been in the body of a nine year old child, but he'd lived through hundreds of years. He'd lived through wars. How could he not have matured yet?

"_Mangiare_," Romano corrected, rather unreasonably.

"But, Romano," Spain forced a smile—_una sonrisa_, couldn't Romano just listen and understand and repeat, for _once_—onto his face, "that's not. . ." The sunlight shining through the window produced a glare that temporarily blinded him.

Romano jumped from his seat, his clothes fluttering with the rush of air. "Your lesson's boring, Spain." His obvious destination was the kitchen, one of the only places in the house he could find the location of without trouble. Spain was frozen in place.

Spanish was not boring.

Though his smile remained present, for a brief moment, Spain saw red. It was as though he was in the New World, dealing with México or the others. Romano had to listen to him _sometimes_; he was so rarely home, after all. Spain was the Boss. He was _the Boss_.

Extending his arms, he picked up his charge, stopping him from running off.

"Spain!" Romano screeched, kicking, though his hits were painless. "Put me _down_, dammit!"

"Romano _se sienta_," Spain growled through gritted teeth. He lifted Romano into the air, flailing limbs and all, and forced him back into his seat rather roughly. Somewhere in his foggy mind, he wondered if he'd hurt Romano, but then he remembered that he was actually going quite easy on the child, specifically compared to the New World children. "Romano sits down."

(México had actually been crying, bleeding, when Spain began to teach Spanish there. México was forced down, subdued, fed the language with the threat of punishment if not obeyed. Romano had it so easy compared to the others, and he didn't even know it. But Spain just couldn't imagine subjugating Romano as though he was México. This Italian boy had weaseled his way into Spain's heart, somehow.)

"Bastard!" Romano yelled, "I—"

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Romano," he sighed, running his fingers through his hair. His smile was chilling, he suddenly realized, and he tried to force himself to calm down. It was Romano, after all. Romano was his little henchman, his cute little boy. "¿_Fácil o difícil_?" Surely Romano knew those cognates. "You're _going_ to learn how to speak Spanish."

There was a long pause, during which Romano stared long and hard at his Boss. He was pouting and crossing his arms, very childlike, while Spain tried to hold his ground. He did not back down—he had to think of the New World, but not completely—and, true to his Italian nature, Romano surrendered not long after.

Spain wondered if he'd been too hard on Romano, as he'd never before _punished_ the child.

He forced these thoughts aside.

As though he hadn't suddenly scolded Romano, Spain smiled brightly. "Alright then." He glanced out the window, estimating that he had a few more hours before it became too dark for Romano to even stay awake. "I'll teach the way you wanted, by showing you the verbs."

Romano glared; Spain pretended not to notice.

He paused, tapping his chin dramatically as he considered his first word. "_Tocar_!" The excitement radiating from him was not contagious, and Romano looked purposefully bored. "It means 'to touch,' see?" He ran his fingers down Romano's cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against Romano's lips.

Romano stayed quiet, his gaze locked with Spain's as Spain tried to read the child's thoughts. He figured Romano was trying to process the verb for later use, trying to imprint it in his vocabulary. Considering the very subtle difference between the word in Italian (_toccare_) and the word in Spanish, it couldn't be that hard. Even the conjugations wouldn't be so difficult.

"See, Romano? To touch." He reemphasized his point with another demonstration. Romano swung his arm half-heartedly. "There are other verbs with similar meanings, but for now, we'll use _tocar_."

Soon enough Romano echoed, "_Tocar_." His face, a slowly darkening pink, seemed to retain the warmth of Spain's fingers. "_Tocar_, dammit."

Spain was ecstatic, and, rather quickly, distracted.

His charge was _finally_ listening to him; he would _finally_ have full conversations with Romano; they would _finally_ get along; they would _finally_ understand each other. . . Spain could picture him and Romano sitting together outside, under the shade of the largest tree, chatting merrily and eating tomatoes and laughing, having conversations in the delicious Spanish language, and maybe Chibitalia would join them, and they'd all be a big, happy family, and oh—

"Spain!" The beautiful image of him and Romano getting along came to a screeching halt. "Stop being stupid and teach me something!"

He couldn't help but smile. "Does Romano like learning Spanish from Boss?" he teased, pinching Romano's cheek. _So cute_.

Face more scarlet than ever, Romano slapped Spain's hand away. "No, you idiot bastard. I just. . . You. . .You just looked. . . stupider than usual."

With a shrug, Spain accepted the answer. What else would Romano be thinking? The child didn't _seem_ to have complicated thoughts—maybe Romano was taking after Spain. He tried to think of his next vocabulary word. . .

"Oh! 'To hug!'"

When the word finally processed in his mind and he realized what Spain would try to do, Romano tried to duck out of the way. Romano's squeak and the ruffling sound of his clothes served as music to Spain's ears. Romano was flailing again, in his attempt to jump from his seat and run away.

Spain scooped his henchman into his arms and squeezed him gently, something he'd longed to do for the many years since Romano had joined his household but never had the proper excuse for. He could smell tomatoes and soap and sugar and something that was distinctly a child, distinctly Romano. He hugged Romano tighter. _Mmm_, it just felt so nice to press Romano against his chest, holding him as though letting go would lead to death. . .

Romano's face turned to a darker crimson and he started kicking and swearing and his breath caught and his heart raced and Spain simply smiled, oblivious. "_Abrazar_."

When he was released, Romano exhaled loudly and looked away, crossing his arms.

"You didn't have to hug me," he said finally.

_So cute_, Spain thought, because it was obvious Romano liked being hugged. Maybe he was finally bonding with his little henchman. Maybe he was finally starting to understand Romano. Oh, how wonderful it would be to understand that strange little child. "Do you want another demonstration? So you can remember better?"

"No!" he said quickly, plopping himself back on the seat. Spain thought the answer came too quickly and was tempted to give him another hug. He refrained. "_Abrazar_."

Before he would lose himself in daydreams again, Spain tried to think of the next word.

"_Susurrar_." The word felt light on his tongue, and he leaned forward so his face was near Romano's ear. "Can you guess what _susurrar_ means, Romano?"

The sound of Spain's _r_'s—for whatever reason, Spain wouldn't be able to figure it out without asking, and he had a feeling Romano would lie to him—caused Romano to shiver, and he glanced upward to meet Spain's eyes. "Whisper, you stupid bastard. Whisper," Romano mumbled. (_Sussurrare_.)

Not appearing to have heard Romano, Spain breathed, "'To whisper.'" His tongue flicked lightly against Romano's skin. Romano shivered visibly now, though the redness of his face confused Spain a little. "Are you alright? Do you need a blanket? Another hug?"

Romano didn't respond, looking toward something he temporarily found to be the most interesting thing in the world.

"Just let me know if you get too cold, then," Spain smiled, clasping his hands together. He felt like a proud parent, successful in teaching a bratty child. "Repeat, _susurrar_."

"Susurrar," he replied dully, the word sounding awkward and obviously foreign. Spain wondered if Romano was purposely trying to butcher the language pronunciations.

He made a face, clicking his tongue. "We'll have to work on your accent, Romano. That was terrible. It sounded like when England tries talking to me."

"Susur_rar_." Scowling, Romano crossed his arms. He looked away, and Spain decided it was because Romano didn't like being compared to England. "Yeah, whatever." But it was odd because Spain _knew_ Romano could pronounce the word properly. He'd heard Romano rolling his _r_'s before, in Italian.

"Tomorrow we'll focus on your accent, okay?" he said at last. He didn't even want to _try_ understanding Romano's thoughts. They probably wouldn't make sense.

Romano glared at him, but Spain didn't actually mind this time.

"_Besar_," he continued, cheerfully, excited with the success of his language lesson, "is to. . ."

He leaned forward to chastely kiss his little henchman at the same time Romano turned his head to shout that he'd already been taught this word and that the stupid bastard needed to remember things if he was going to force Romano to do so.

Spain's mouth was supposed to brush against Romano's blushing cheek, but the Italian had turned his head just enough to change the innocuous gesture. And neither of them was moving to get away or move closer; both were stuck in the awkward position where their mouths were connected with no passion or reason.

Some kiss.

Romano's eyes were wide: Spain thought that maybe it was with the delight that came with learning Spanish. He wondered whether Romano was learning from his lesson.

It then occurred to Spain that they needed to breathe, and he pulled away from Romano, disconnecting himself from the boy's mouth with a barely audible plopping sound. Romano stared at him, a barrage of emotions sweeping through his face, easily interpretable so long as the person was not Spain.

And Spain really did try to understand, then, but Romano was just so different, and he couldn't tell. (And, because Spain hadn't read the atmosphere in such a long time, his skills were a little rusty.) As he wasn't sure how to interpret Romano's thoughts, he shrugged and proceeded with his lesson.

"Kiss," Spain flushed excitedly. "_Besar_ is 'to kiss.'"

Romano looked like he wanted to say something, his lips parting to shout the words, yet he held back. He had already been blushing, but his face was now so ridiculously red, heat was radiating from it.

He pressed a hand to Romano's cheek, letting the warmth tingle through his body. "You don't seem to be cold anymore, at least," Spain declared, grinning.

Romano said nothing for a while. At last, after glancing at Spain, he mumbled, "Bastard. . . _Besar_. . ."

"My cute little henchman is learning Spanish!" he declared, wiping at a fake tear.

"You're a bastard," Romano muttered again, but Spain didn't feel as insulted as he usually did. "_Besar_," Romano repeated, rolling his eyes. His face was still pink, and he leaned forward.

Perhaps the biggest surprise of the day, to Spain, was that Romano kissed him on the cheek upon saying 'besar.' A pleasant blush dusted Spain's cheeks, and he smiled wider than he had in a long time. It felt nice, receiving love from Romano. The touch of Romano's soft lips to his cheek was imprinted in his mind; his whole body felt warm.

Spain had never felt as proud of Romano as he did at that moment. "Okay, Romano, make Boss happy. Your next word is. . ."

Blushing and stumbling and awkward, Romano spoke Spanish unusually well by the day's end.

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><p><strong>AN: There's some fluffy, clean (well, compared to what I _usually_ write XD) Boss!Spain and Chibi!Romano relations. I always figured Spain had to teach Romano Spanish again, and since the first time his vocabulary lesson started with not-too-innocent words. . . Yeah. =P The Spanish and Italian in this probably don't need translation, as it's my basic, mediocre skills coming into play. Most of it is explained by Spain anyway. XD**

**I'm not _extremely_ happy with it, as I feel like the lack of plot leading to this cheesy ending isn't written that well, but whatever. I hope **_**you**_** liked it! ^^**


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